i had the strangest dream the other night that left me all mopey and sad the whole day.
i dreamt that i cooked up the perfect bowl of noodle soup. and no, it was not like one of those simple and tasty recipes. it was hearty soups that had all kinds of things in it. a nice savoury broth. perfectly chopped veggies and all the good stuff in it. perfectly cooked noodles – not the kind that’s too thick, not the kind that’s too slippery, not the kind that’s all stuck together – i’m talking about perfect noodles.
it was a bright and sunny day. the radio was playing those soulful 80s songs in the background. and i had all the right ingredients. it was all i had. and it was all i needed. and just enough of them to make that one single bowl of perfect noodle soup. just enough.
and when it was done, i poured the whole thing into a beautiful bowl, put a spoon on the side and balanced a pair of chopsticks on the edge.
and i carried this wonderful bowl of noodle soup to find the perfect place to sit down and enjoy it. i was filled with awesome happiness. everything in the world was beautiful. nothing can define happiness better when you know you’ve made the absolute perfect bowl of noodle soup and the hard work has come to this one perfect moment.
and so i carried this bowl and walked and walked and walked. in my mind i knew the perfect place for such an occasion. the wonderful aroma of spices from the bowl of noodle soup filled my journey.
and then i tripped.
and spilled by bowl of noodle soup.
my knee and elbows hurt from the fall. but more than that, the tsunami of sadness from seeing my wonderful bowl of perfect noodle soup all over the ground. all the ingredients scattered on the dirt and grass and floor. my noodles all tangled up. my bowl broken. my chopsticks separated.
i woke up with an unbelievable sense of heaviness. in fact, in that first few hours of being awake, as i washed and got ready of work, i was still in shock over losing my perfect bowl of noodle soup.
and if you only knew how absolutely perfect that bowl of noodle soup was, and how rarely you come across a meal that contained so much happiness in a bowl, then you would understand the state of sadness, it was almost like mourning, i was in the whole day.
J said that my subconscious is revealing some perspective on my life. and that what i need to do now is gather all the right ingredients and make that perfect bowl of noodle soup.
and we need to eat the noodle soup this time, he tells me.
men. all they think about are their stomachs.